Author: Lady Starblade -- [email protected]
Rating: PG
Pairing: T/R
Category: Action & a twist of everything else
Spoilers: "Shockwave, Pt. II" & "Canamar"
Warnings: Written in 3 hours on a lark
Archive: Entslash; Anyone else, if ya want it, take it. Just let me know where.
Feedback: <in best Roger Rabbit voice> Pppppleeeease!
Disclaimer: I wish I may, I wish I might, but I don't own Enterprise or its denizens. And while I'm at it, I wish I got paid for this, but I don't.
Author's Note: That does it, I cannot control these bunnies in any way, shape or form. This one grabbed and wouldn't let go. Tangled its little paws in my hair. Brought on by the little spate of dialogue I typed up for the "Episode Talk--Canamar" thread.
Dedication: For Reginabellatrix, since she whipped out the "Porthos Cheese Begging" look. <g> And a nod to Ane for the idea of SP1 being jinxed.
Summary: Malcolm's thoughts during and the aftermath of "Canamar."
**
Malcolm Reed had to remind himself to breathe as he watched the viewscreen. In. Out. In. Out. The shuttlepod continued its lazy spin, displaying the scorch marks running along its flanks. In. Out. In. Out. He could dimly hear Hoshi's voice as she tried to raise the craft, but received no reply. In. Out. In. Out. Damned Shuttlepod One. It had to be a jinxed vessel, had to be....*I should blast it out of the sky,* Malcolm thought dimly. In. Out. In. Out.
Subcommander T'Pol's voice jerked him out of his reverie. "Lieutenant?"
Eyes jerking back to his console, Malcolm blurted, "They took some weapons fire. Main power offline. Gravity plating....life support." His words struck the tension-filled bridge with a dull thud.
T'Pol inclined her head. "Bio-signs?"
That had been the first readout Malcolm had checked, but he wanted to deny it. If he didn't say it, maybe it wouldn't be true. But the direct question took even that faint comfort away. Somehow he managed to force the word past the knot in his throat. "None."
**
"I've been running a forensic analysis. There are traces of human blood, on the deck and the bulkheads, both the captain's and Commander Tucker's. I tend to believe they were abducted." Phlox looked up at Malcolm as he said Trip's name.
Malcolm looked down at the display. "If they were, they didn't go without a fight." Of course they would have fought. The relief that had filled him when they had opened the pod and found no bodies was now being replaced with a slow anger. Someone had taken Trip. Someone had hurt Trip. And done the same to his captain.
T'Pol gave the curt order to set course to the last place anyone had seen the two men. The Vulcan's dark eyes were calm, but the set of her shoulders and downward tilt of her head gave lie to the stoic demeanor. She raised her eyes to Malcolm's and gave a slight nod. He ducked his head in her direction and set off toward his station.
It was going to be a long flight.
**
Malcolm squeezed in behind Travis Mayweather, who was occupied with flying the unfamiliar craft toward the prison ship. Malcolm allowed himself a grimace at the ugly, jagged starship. It looked every inch like a prison vessel, and the thought of Trip trapped on that thing, apparently in the middle of a prisoner revolt....he shook his head and cast a look back at his boarding party, crammed into their captured craft.
They circled around the larger ship, which was descending rapidly into the planet's atmosphere. The ship only had a handful of minutes before it began to burn up. Scenarios ran through Malcolm's mind, flashing before his eyes like a badly edited movie. They had no idea what sort of tactical situation they were flying into, but Lieutenant Reed's objectives were clear: to rescue the inmates. Malcolm's goal, however, was less objective: save Trip.
Their ship docked with the prison transport, connecting roughly. Travis winced and swiveled in his chair. "Sorry."
Malcolm shook his head quickly and pointed back over his shoulder. "Get ready."
"Yes, sir." Travis leapt up and armed himself with one of the phase rifles. He would be at the back of the party, laying down covering fire. The group eased into the airlock, the hatch sliding away to reveal the double doors of the transport's docking port. A faint screech of metal, and the doors parted.
Malcolm plunged through the open hatchway, phase pistol blazing. He swept his eyes around the interior, but they stopped immediately on Trip. The engineer's eyes brightened and a slight smile danced across his face. Managing to restrain his relieved sigh, Malcolm handed Archer a phase pistol, and the firefight began in earnest.
The enemy began ducking behind the prisoners, using them as shields as he fired at the boarding party. He moved around until the beams from his weapon were cutting through the air bare inches above Trip's back. Malcolm felt his heart skip as a voice in the back of his mind screamed, *Don't hit him! Don't hit him!* Malcolm edged to the side, trying to get a clearer shot.
But it was Archer who finally brought him down near the cockpit hatch. He then climbed back onto the main walkway and handed the pistol back to Malcolm. "I see my message got through."
Malcolm nodded curtly, trying not to stare searchingly at Trip. "Perfectly, sir."
Trip gestured with his cuffed hands, giving Malcolm the perfect excuse to look back. "Cap'n, would you mind?"
Archer bent down and took something from the large, green-skinned guard and handed the device to Malcolm. "This'll open the restraints."
Leaping up over the walkway as the ship shuddered, Malcolm crouched next to Trip, the two men's heads almost touching. Malcolm resisted the urge to rest his forehead against Trip's. He settled for a muttered, "Which button?"
Trip pointed with his chin. "The left one. Unless you wanna electrify me." He looked up to see Malcolm's face set into the stony expression that he acquired when trying to control his anger.
Softening his voice, Trip said, "I'm okay Malcolm, really."
Malcolm grunted noncommittally as he pressed the correct button. The cuffs snapped open and Trip shook them off. They fell to the deck with a sharp clank. Trip stood up and caught the weapon Archer tossed to him. He looked back at Malcolm and let a half smile pull up a corner of his mouth. "Thanks darlin'. Now how about we get everyone outta here?"
Feeling a responding smile forming, Malcolm bobbed his head. "Wonderful idea."
**
Trip emerged from his bathroom, running his fingers through his damp hair. Scrubbing four days worth of filth off of himself had given him a fresh outlook on life. And just the sound of blessed silence soothed him beyond belief. His bruise didn't even hurt, thanks to Phlox's salve of dubious origins. But he knew what he really needed....what he really wanted. He wondered if Malcolm was on the bridge or in the armory....
The question quickly became moot. Malcolm was sitting on the edge of Trip's bed. He glanced up, and Trip stopped dead in his tracks at the expression in those gray eyes. Malcolm looked exhausted and wrung out, like he had been pushing himself too hard for too long. Then he realized that Malcolm probably had been. The man had no neutral gear.
Malcolm rose to his feet and smiled tiredly. "Feeling better?"
Trip remained quiet until he stepped forward and wrapped his arms around his lover. "Now I do," he said gently into the other man's ear. He turned his head to breathe in Malcolm's scent. "Thanks for comin' after us."
Malcolm pressed his body closer to Trip as he replied, "Nothing could have stopped me. I'll always come after you."
Trip grinned widely, pulling his head back to lock eyes with Malcolm. "I always wanted my own personal white knight." Malcolm grinned back, eyes finally beginning to sparkle and shed their tired dullness.
But the shine dampened slightly as Malcolm lifted a hand to hover over the large bruise on the side of Trip's face. "I hate seeing you hurt, love. It makes me so angry....it hurts me too."
Trip turned his head quickly and pressed a quick kiss into Malcolm's palm. "I know. I was ready to punch through a few bulkheads after I saw what those Suliban bastards did to ya." Trip's smile vanished as his jaw clenched briefly at the memory, and Malcolm responded by stroking the tense line soothingly. Trip blew out a long, low breath, which ruffled through his companion's dark strands.
Malcolm shifted his grip to the back of Trip's head and pulled it down until their foreheads were touching. "I love you, Trip."
Trip tightened his hold and leaned into him. "I love you too, Malcolm."
Then Malcolm's fingers tangled in Trip's hair as their lips met, and memories of pain were quickly replaced with thoughts of pleasure.
END